


The Charred

by pandoralily



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eventual Legolas/oc, F/M, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Overused trope but i love it, Tenth Walker, With A Twist, idiots to lovers, seriously this poor girl, starts pre lotr and goes into post lotr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandoralily/pseuds/pandoralily
Summary: "If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."How terribly true those words are.-----"Ailment?" I said, wishing he would just hurry up and cut to the chase."It is one I've only seen once long, long ago and it did not end well..." he said and I began to grow frustrated."Stop beating around the bush and tell me what's wrong with me! Is it my arm? Is that why it aches and it's bandaged?" I said impatiently, fear starting well in my throat. I swallowed it down like bile.He nodded, "You are correct, you have contracted what is known in the common tongue as The Charring. A deadly illness that perverts the victim into something deadly, something dark, if they do not perish first."I almost wish he hadn't told me, that I'd never stepped through the strange door. This didn't happen to girls who found their way to Middle Earth, everyone knew that. They find out they have some mystical power and help save the world, that's what the rule of fanfiction said. I didn't even recall Tolkien ever mentioning The Charring.Apparently Tolkien didn’t know everything about his made up world.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, i've been part of the lotr fandom since i frist read the books when i was 12 and decided to actually start writing a fanfic, took me bloody long enough.
> 
> I'm using a mix of the books and movies, trying to stay true to lore as much as i can in order for the premise of my story to work though there will be canon divergence at some parts where necessary
> 
> also let me know what you think of the formatting please, I'm undecided if i want to jsut format the way you usually do in a work of fiction or if I should use the formatting I learned from years of fanfiction, the latter often used to break up big chunks of text.

Chapter 1

Writing is hard. Sometimes the words come flowing out, spilling from my mind with such ferocity and tenacity that I have to write, or type, them down. And then other times it is like pulling teeth from an already toothless mouth, slow, impossible, and useless.  
  
I don't know why I must write, sometimes I think it is the only way to organise my discombobulated thoughts. My mind is a jumble of stories, people, voices, places, and all manner of other things that if I were not to release it then I would go mind. Of course, I have never been so unfortunate to not have an outlet for my creativity.  
  
But that is not the reason for this story, the reason for this story is merely to exist in the vast oblivion of the virtual world. Take from it what you will, what you need, but always remember this one crucial thing, coined by one far more eloquent that I.  
  
"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."  
  
How terribly true those words are.  
  


\-----

  
“What the fuck...” I whispered in disbelief.

I blinked once, then twice, and again three times. Still, the door remained.

It wasn't there before, I'd never seen it in the small flat nor had any visitors pointed it out to me. For days it had resided in my home after appearing out of thin air. The handle turned when I tried it, but I didn't open the door out of fear of what I would find.

Even Soarise couldn't see it, and as my best friend her word was taken above all others, yet still I knew I wasn't hallucinating, a hallucination would've left by now.

She lived here too, and never once acknowledged the strange door. It was only me who seemed to know of it's existence, I doubted it was a hallucination either. Hallucinations didn't last this long, at least, not the ones I had seen.

And yet the door remained.

It was rather ordinary looking, wooden with a metal handle and metal hinges attached to the frame it sat snug in my hallway. I had never seen it before, and I was distinctly aware of how my situation resembled a horror film.

If I stood by it closely for a prolonged time, I could feel a draft from the crack beneath it and heard the faint chirping of birds and wind through tree leaves; the sound of the forest. But there would be no forest in the middle of a Welsh town.

My hand lay gently on the door handle once more, but again, I didn't open it. I was beginning to feel the breeze on my bare ankles and the pitter pattering of rain reached my ears. It must have been raining in the forest this time.

All I hand to do was pull, and I would find out what was on the other side, but a random door appearing out of nowhere was ominous and I was only small, only alone.

I let go of the handle.

“This is ridiculous,” I said, frowning to myself, “clearly it's been here the whole time and I just didn't notice,” but that didn't explain why Soarise couldn't see it. I ignored that fact.

Hastily I made my way into the living room, pouring myself a large glass of juice which I downed in one swig, before running my hands through my hair. In the corner of my eye I could see the strange door in the corridor, as if it was mocking me.

I narrowed my eyes, picking my phone up, and walking in front of the door again.

I quickly called Saoirse, the dial taking too long as the door seemed to be staring at me, daring me to step through it.

“Hey, what's up?” Saoirse's Irish brogue was music to my ears and I internally cheered for her.

“I've never told you this,” I started, the words came easy, “but for the past few days there's been a door in our house that appeared out of nowhere.”

Saoirse snickered, “What? What're you playing at?”

“I'm not playing,” I replied, “there is a door here that I've never seen before, and it's not a hallucination I can touch it and it wont go away, and you haven’t given any indication that you can see it.”

The Irishwoman sounded concerned, “Liv, you okay? You want me to come home? My shift ends in a few hours but I’m sure-”

“I'm fine,” I said, “but I'm gonna go through it, and I just wanted to say...in case I...” I trailed off, tears gathering in her eyes, “in case something happens...”

“I'm coming straight home, don't hang up and stay right where you are.” Saoirse said seriously, “I'll be there in two seconds, don't hang up!”

“I love you,” I said.

“No! Don't ha-” The phone clicked off before Saoirse could finish.

I swallowed thickly before striding to my bedroom and fishing out my rucksack, selecting a few items to take with me through the strange door. My bodice dagger that I got at comiccon, rape whistle, a glow in the dark compass, drinks and snacks, hairbrush, journal and a few pens.

I strapped another dagger, this one with a loop sheath to my belt, I got this one from Glastonbury years ago, and hiked my jeans up before donning my poncho shawl thing. I had never learned the real name for it, and finally my boots.

I stood in front of the door, reached for the handle, and after a moments' hesitation I opened it.

It was _not_ the forest I heard.

\-----

The sun was bright, assaulting my closed eyes and I was distinctly aware of the sound of water. I didn't open my eyes, though I knew that I probably should. I was comfortable, lying still in a soft bed under silk covers and the smell of trees was overpowering.

I heard the sound of a page turning, and I knew that I was not alone in this place, wherever I was. My right arm ached, a tingling sensation not dissimilar to that of sunburn. It hurt either way.

“I know you're awake.” Said a voice, and in my musing I failed to notice the loss of page turning, but the strangest thing was that I recognised the voice.

Slowly, blearily, I opened my tired eyes, ignoring the pain from the streaming sun as I regarded the man beside me.

He was old, with greying hair and a long beard. He wore a grey robes? I think they were robes, and on his lap lay a long thing wrapped in a bundle of fabric. He also had a book in his hands and he appeared familiar to me, though I couldn't exactly place him in my mind.

“Who're you?” I asked, swallowing thickly as I realised I must've sounded rather rude.

The man smiled tenderly, “I am Gandalf the Grey.”

Instantly, I burst out laughing, “Yeah right, and I'm the Queen of Russia,” he seemed unphased by my brash laughter, “who're you really?”

“I've already told you.” Was all he said.

Anxiety began to well in my gut as I regarded my surroundings, familiarity pulling at my heart and closing the breath in my throat.

Rustic and beautiful, clear design reference to Art Nouveou, and nature everywhere. The bed I was in was big and sported the carving of a woman at it's headboard. Everything was terribly familiar, familiar to Rivendell.

Sitting quietly in the corner, I nearly jumped at the sight of him, was the Lord of the House himself, Lord Elrond. He said nothing, merely offered me a small smile and a nod to 'Gandalf'.

I looked back at 'Gandalf', “This is impossible,”

“Indeed,” he said, “and yet here you are. Do you remember how you came to be here?”

I searched for any memory that could lead me here but my mind was blank, a deep chasm in the place where it should have been. Frantically, I looked to Gandalf but found nothing but pity and concern in his gaze, his hands tightening around the bundle on his lap.  
  
“There's nothing," I whispered, "nothing beyond the door..." it was a horrible feeling, and the ache from my arm made it all the worse.  
  
“A terrible fate has befallen you, child, one that I would not wish upon anyone," Gandalf said, voice laced with sorrow.  
  
I narrowed my eyes, "And what fate is that?"  
  
The old wizard hesitated, his eyes quickly meeting Lord Elrond's and they seemed to have a quick silent conversation.  
  
It was Elrond who spoke first, "You were discovered wandering in the land of Gondor, delirious and unrecognizable, by a northern ranger,"  
  
"Dunedain..." I whispered and Elrond raised his brow in veiled shock.  
  
"Indeed," was all he said on the matter before continuing, "he brought you here after seeing your... " he seemed to struggle for the right words before settling on, "ailment."  
  
"Ailment?" I said, wishing he would just hurry up and cut to the chase.  
  
"It is one I've only seen once long, long ago and it did not end well..." he said and I began to grow frustrated.  
  
"Stop beating around the bush and tell me what's wrong with me! Is it my arm? Is that why it aches and it's bandaged?" I said impatiently, fear starting well in my throat. I swallowed it down like bile.  
  
He nodded, "You are correct, you have contracted what is known in the common tongue as The Charring. A deadly illness that perverts the victim into something deadly, something dark, if they do not perish first."  
  
I almost wish he hadn't told me, that I'd never stepped through the strange door. This didn't happen to girls who found their way to Middle Earth, everyone knew that. They find out they have some mystical power and help save the world, that's what the rule of fanfiction said. I didn't even recall Tolkien ever mentioning The Charring.

Apparently Tolkien didn’t know everything about his made up world.  
  
"How did I get it?" I said, internally begging my voice not to waver.  
  
Gandalf spoke this time, unfurling the bundle on his lap to reveal a familiar sword.  
  
"This," he began, "is the sword of the Witch-King of Angmar, and is responds only to your touch." He held it out to me, careful not to let his bare skin touch it.  
  
I reached out with my bandaged arm, the blood thrumming beneath my skin, and gently wrapped my fingers around the hilt.  
  
The effect was instantaneous.  
  
The room darkened and on my ears I could hear the low beat of drums and singing, almost like a sinister Gregorian chant. I could feel the raw energy flowing between the sword and my arm, the power it held was immense.  
  
Gandalf's hold began to shake and I dropped the sword, watching him quickly wrap it back up again. It made me uneasy, not because of the energy flow or the connotations attached to it, but rather how right the sword belonged in my hand. I had held it before, fought with it before, that sword and I had an understanding the likes of which I had never felt in all my life. That was _my_ sword.  
  
"It has chosen you, and as such it leeches your life force for it's hunger. The only way to feed it is to spill blood, otherwise it feasts on its wielder." Elrond said gravely.  
  
I swallowed thickly again, "is there a cure?"  
  
Silence once again fell over us, my gaze never leaving the sword, even as it sat wrapped up on Gandalf's lap.  
  
"Yes," Elrond finally said, my head snapping to his attention, "but it is a small hope and conditional entirely upon our victory in this war."  
  
"Victory?"  
  
He nodded, "The One Ring directly relates to the sword's terrible power, a gift from Sauron to his most trusted General, if the ring is destroyed then so is the evil magic poisoning you."  
  
I sighed heavily, "So my fate lies with the fate of the ring?" I wanted him to say no, to tell me that he was just fucking with me and that this was all a sick joke. But it was not, I knew that, and Elrond had given me a chance for survival, however slim.  
  
"So when's the Fellowship heading off then?"


	2. Chapter 2

So apparently mentioning the Fellowship of the Ring before it has even been formed was a bad idea, especially as I had no idea when it would be forming.

Who'd have thunk?

Gandalf decreed that my loose tongue must've been a side effect of the Charring, and honestly I didn't have the heart to tell him I was just a dumbass with a death wish. Poor choice of words considering my...condition.

Speaking of, all of the elves gave me a wide berth as I wandered the halls of Rivendell. I could hear them whispering in the dark corners, their pitying eyes as they knew that my death would be swift and violent.

I didn't blame them for their avoidance, despite the Charring not being contagious.

The throbbing had dulled to a minor ache, it was almost unnoticable, if not for the black staining of my skin and sharpened fingers. My hand was beginning to resemble a claw, it looked demonic.

I told Gandalf and Lord Elrond _(and do I call him Lord or not? I couldn't ever decide, to his face I called him “Lord Elrond” but my mind was a place none were privvy too, I could call him Donald Trump and he'd be none the wiser but let's face it Elrond doesn't deserve such a_ _despicable_ _name)_ of my knowledge, I told them of my life before the door and how I'd read all of Tolkien's works and seen the movies. I neglected the crush I had on Legolas in my youth though, that was tmi.

Since accepting my fate, albeit more out of a sense of self depreciation and severe depression, I had become more at ease. I could almost forget the Charring.

Almost.

My dreams were never as calm as I presented myself to the waking world. I dreamt of roaring seas of fire, black lands, and burnt forests. A man, no an elf, I think anyway they were always hazy, with eyes that blazed brighter than the sun was always featured. I didn't need a psychic to tell me who he was.

Sauron knew I had stolen something precious ( _haha see what I did there? At least my imminent death hasn't dulled my wicked sense of humour_ ) and he was not happy with me. Every time I closed my eyes I saw him, he haunted everywhere and everything. I wondered if this was what it would be like carrying the ring but then realised the ring would probably be so much worse.

That was another thought that dominated my already scattered brain.

I had absolutely no idea how the Charring would affect the One Ring. Neither did Gandalf or Lord Elrond, and they certainly didn't want to risk me going crazy when around it so I was forbidden from ever leaving Rivendell or meeting Frodo. Whom I definitely didn't know who be arriving in Rivendell of the 24th of October, and waking at 10am.

As you can see, they really thought this out.

Which is why you can probably imagine my surprise when Lord Elrond informed me that I would be running some errands for him.

“Wait, what?” I said, pausing my reading as I stared at him flabbergasted.

“I believe that your knowledge would be beneficial,” he responded, sitting in the chair opposite mine at the table, piled with books. I noticed that seemed far more at ease with the sword, I had learned was called “Ancalagonél”, not in my presence, which was why my surprise was doubled at his next sentence.

“I also believe that you should take it with you.” He didn't need to specifiy what 'it' was, I already knew he was referencing my sword.

I raised a brow, “Why?”

He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and I was once again shocked, this time by his casual behaviour.

“For whatever reason, Eru Illuvatar as fated you to wield that accursed sword, and I have seen you in visions,” dawning realisation settled over me at his words, “we would be wise to heed the advice gifted to us by beings greater than ourselves, I trust Illivatar’s judgement, and he has judged that you will play a vital part in the events to come, cursed or not.”

I swallowed thickly, “that’s a lot to take in, why couldn’t I have been cursed with the ability to herd sheep in peace or something?”

Lord Elrond’s lip raised in amusement, “at least you still have your sense of humour, may it keep your spirits lifted through these dark times, Lady Olivia,”

Shrugging nonchalantly, I said, “well, what else can I do? Mope around and fall into despair? I’ve never been very good at succumbing to evil forces, I don’t see the point in starting now.”

He actually chuckled at that, and shut his book, tucking it under his arm before rising, “Farewell, young one, I will see you at dinner,” he strode out of the room, and my stomach grumbled at his words. I never imagines years ago that I would be having regular meals with the Lord of Rivendell and his family, and yet it was a routine I had grown used to. At least Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s sons, were amusing.

I slumped back in my chair, ignoring the throbbing of my left arm as it called out to the sword. Someone, probably Gandalf, must've moved it again and in its fear it called to me. It was a horrible feeling, a sword _shouldn't_ be sentient, and even if it wasn't really sentient, it was _aware_ of what was going on around it. And it was aware that I wasn't going to give into its evil.

Sometimes I wondered if I should just give in, I was going to die, that was unavoidable. And I was going to be killed by one of the worst illnesses in Middle Earth, I was even told that my survival was a very, very long shot and entirely dependant on the destroying of the Ring. Of course I knew how Lord of the Rings played out, but apparently I'd been in Middle Earth far longer than I could remember so I had no idea if I'd changed anything or even if I was vital to the plot.

A rather arrogant thought but isn't that how these things play out? Some random girl ends up in Middle Earth and helps save the world? Only this time it was different, because I was probably going to die an agonising death before the end and I had a terrible cursed sword in my possession. I don't remember ever reading a fanfiction like that and honestly I didn't really want to, living it was far worse and the prospect of ever going home was a far off dream.

I wondered if it was because I'd been here so long that I didn't freak out? Isn't freaking out normal in these situations? I'd never experienced something like this so I couldn't draw from that well of knowledge. I wasn't even surprised at my different appearance, the long silver hair or growth. Which was definitely _not_ normal. I didn't even look like me any more.

But such a thing was stupid, I didn't have time to be vain.

And that in itself was another point. In all the fanfiction I had read the girl falls in love and they live happily ever after.

Well, that certainly wasn't going to happen.

Not only was romance far, far from my mind, I don't recall ever actually having strong romantic feelings for anyone anyway, but the inevitable death by Charring was looming over my head constantly. Or, I suppose, looming in my arm.

I was scared, basically. When it came down to it, when everything was stripped away and I lay in nothingness with naught but myself I was wholly fucking terrified, and the only thing I could do was wait for Frodo to destroy the Ring and even that wasn't a 100% positive cure all to my sickness

I was being eaten _alive,_ and no one had ever survived this. So why would I, some random girl Middle Earth didn't give two shits about, be the exception? I wasn't, that's what. I was going to die, and I was going to die soon, so I might as well do whatever the hell I wanted.

And fortunately for everyone, that want didn't involve giving in to the sword and it's terrible power. I was anything if not stubborn.

\-----

Days came and days passed, Frodo had yet to arrive in Rivendell, I'll admit the timelines are a bit skewed when you've got a servant of evil trying to fester your mind and body, and gradually I returned to my former strength.

I hated not knowing the date, and another evening meal was upon us.

Something that is neglected to mention in all portrayals of Lord of the Rings is how goddamn _big_ Rivendell is and how long people spend walking around the endless amount of halls just looking for the right door.

I knew my way around now and yet _still_ spent the rest of my miserably short life looking for Lord Elrond's dining hall.

“Excuse me?” I asked a pretty elf maid, her violet eyes widening at me, she seemed rather uncomfortable.

“Yes?” She said, actively trying not to look at my bandaged arm. I fought back the urge to roll my eyes, I knew she was scared but this was ridiculous.

I smiled politely, “Can you tell my how far I am from the dining hall? I'm always getting mixed up here.”

She smiled at me, gesturing to the door down the long corridor behind me, “It is right there, Lady Olivia.”

Fighting the stupid giggle rising in me, I nodded, “So it is, thank you.”

The elf bowed a little before floating down the corridor very quickly, no doubt to get as far away from me and my cursed self as possible. I didn't blame her.

I pushed the great wooden doors open, moments behind Arwen apparently, and quickly made my way to my seat next to her.

The dining table was awfully long for such a small family, with Lord Elrond sitting at the head of the table, Elladan and Elrohir to his side opposite Arwen and myself. Servants brought out plates of salad and fish no doubt caught that morning from the waterfall that flew into Rivendell.

“Good evening,” Lord Elrond greeted his children and guest.

We greeted him back, and I began picking at my plate, eyes set on beautifully buttered potatoes. I loved that the elves of Rivendell had a similar appetite to myself, even if I thought they’d could use more meat and cheese. God, that sounded so decadent for a medieval time period.

I kept moving my long hair out of the way as I ate, eternally envious how Arwen never had any trouble with her hair despite its impressive length, when I felt a booted foot kick me beneath the table.

Chewing inconspicuously, I raised my gaze to silently deduce which twin had decided to instigate a game of footsie with me this night.

Elladan was the eldest, and more boisterous of the two, though Elrohir’s mischievous nature was nothing to sniff at, even if he may have appeared shy at times. They were equally involved in the game of teasing me at times, especially when we practised our battle skills together, despite Arwen occasionally joining our messing about.

Neither identical face gave away any hint of who had challenged me, and it was only with a quick nudge from Arwen that I remembered to eat.

Suddenly, I was kicked again, and my narrowed gaze was quick enough to notice Lord Elrond shoot Elladan a warning glance. I had found my rival.

Slowly so as not to alert Lord Elrond, I silently raised my own booted foot and nudged Elladan where I knew I had left a particularly nasty bruise on his shin from training that morning. He stiffened, my touch probably more of a tickle than a pain due to the elven ability to take a god damn train to the face and walk away unscathed, I wanted to stick my tongue out at him but I was certain we’d both be sent to our rooms without dinner like naughty children if I did.

Elladan returned my nudge with one of his own, significantly less force behind this one than before, and he again peeked at his father. Lord Elrond again shot him a warning glance, but seemed to hold me innocent to his son’s antics.

I smiled sweetly at Elladan when I felt another booted foot kick me, and instantly I knew Elrohir had joined his brother’s side in this game. It was no matter, I’d get Arwen on my side, provided she didn’t think us childish, which she usually did.

“Kick Olivia one more time, Elladan, and I will have you restrained to your chamber for the rest of your time here,” Lord Elrond said, interrupting the silence of dinner.

It was an empty threat, to some degree anyway, but Elladan knew not to antagonise his father, especially as the twins spent most of their time adventuring around Middle Earth and as such rarely came home. They had visited for two months this time, but they would probably be leaving for years again, at least that’s what Arwen had said to me.

Arwen was hiding a smile behind her bite of salmon, and I knew instantly that she would be on my side should I wish to annoy her brothers. Female solidarity for the win!

“But father,” Elrohir began, “if Elladan is confined to his chambers then how will we train Olivia? She needs both of us to teach her about combat,”

“I am sure Lindir would agree to assist you,” Elrond said, well aware of the twins’ distaste for the serious elf.

Elladan made a face, “As if he could replace me, besides Olivia would knock him flat on his back in two seconds,”

I narrowed my eyes, “what and you think I can’t best you Elladan?”

“Is that a challenge?” He said dangerously, leaning over his plate and matching my gaze.

“Do you want it to be?” I replied.

He grinned deviously, “Indeed it is, after dinner or in the morning?”

I was about to reply when Lord Elrond cut in, “As much as I am sure the two of you enjoy knocking each other into the dirt, I’m afraid a duel will not be taking place.”

I frowned, “Why not, Milord? Is it because I’m a girl? Because I’ve seen Arwen fight and I know elves aren’t sexist like humans,”

Lord Elrond shook his head, “It is not, I have a duty for you Olivia, one we will discuss in my study after dinner.” He didn’t elaborate, and the rest of dinner passed me by in quiet contemplation. What task could need doing that a multi-talented elf couldn’t do?

\-----

I had made my way to Lord Elrond’s study and knocked once, then twice, before Lord Elrond replied, and gently I pushed the door open. He didn't smile at my entrance like he usually did, but instead his face was serious and stern, I didn't even get the chance to glance around his lovely office before he was presenting me with a bundle.

My brow rose, “What's this?” I peaked inside of the bundle and saw a swath of green.

“The clothes you arrived in, repaired and reinforced to withstand the wilds.” He said, sitting behind his desk once again.

I sat down in the armchair opposite him, gently laying the bundle on my lap, “Thank you, Milord.” I said, bowing my head respectfully.

He nodded back, “I sense that you grow restless, is Imladris not to your liking?” He didn't appear offended, if anything it was as if he was offering a leading question, the bait on the hook I only had to bite. And I desperately wanted to bite.

To be truthful, I was growing restless. I didn't know how much of Middle Earth I had already seen but I was dying to see more and while Rivendell was definitely the homely house it boasted to be, I wanted to swing my sword again.

“It is wonderful here,” everyone knows that, “but I find that I have rested too long. I miss the wilderness and I need to discover who I am.” I implored him.

He sighed heavily, “I had foreseen this,” he confessed, “and I knew that you would have to leave before you return.” Well yeah, that’s generally how returning works.

I nodded, “Anything I can find out would be useful, if not in search for a cure that I know doesn't exist then at least I can find out _why_ I'm like this, but I do have another question,” I said.

Lord Elrond was listening, even if his old eyes seemed to be more lost in thought than on me.

“What is the date?” I asked, aware that the it was around 3019ish that the events of Lord of the Rings took place.

He seemed surprised by my question, “I thought you were aware of that?”

I shook my head, “Not really, my amnesia has made time a bit...inconsistent,”

“It is the year of the Third Age 3009,” He said.

My eyes all but fell out of their sockets, “3009!” I yelped, “Frodo doesn't arrive until 3018! That's _nine_ years away!”

Lord Elrond nodded, “Yes, it is, I can see what will be but the exact dates are unknown to me. You, however, seem to already hold that knowledge. The hobbit and the Ring have a short time to wait before they are due here,”

I frowned, leaning back in my seat, “You haven't met Frodo yet, how did you know he would be carrying the Ring? Or that he would even end up here?” I understood he had the gift of foresight and believed me but it was still...strange.

He chuckled lowly, “You, young one, have told me enough to make the connection with my visions, but that matters not at present,” Lord Elrond said, leaning forward and regarding me with a critical eye, “I have a mission for you.”

My interest was piqued, “A mission? The one you mentioned at dinner?”

“Yes,” he smiled, “you already know of Estel, do you not?”

I nodded, “Yeah, Aragorn of the Dunedain, right?”

Lord Elrond frowned disapprovingly, “Do not call him by that name, it is unsafe,” he said seriously, I nodded my understanding, “call him Estel or Strider, right?” I said leaning forward eagerly, “what's he got to do with it?”

Lord Elrond showed me a piece of parchment with elegant cursive written on it, the words _'Gollum',_ _'Strider',_ and ' _Mirkwood_ ' stood out to me.

“You are to accompany Estel and Gandalf to hunt the creature known as Gollum and take him to Mirkwood to be held in King Thranduil's dungeons, and I heard tale that King Thranduil has encountered your illness before and reportedly knows key information about it,” he said.

My eyebrows shot into my hairline, “King Thranduil knows about the Charring?”

“It would appear so, now make haste,” he ordered, “your companions depart within the hour and you shall leave with them.”

Perhaps there was hope for me after all?

\-----

I packed only essentials, and my journal, to capture Gollum. Lord Elrond had simple leather armour fashioned for me, which I was very grateful for. Despite my amnesia, I was very much aware of the fact I was a warrior, especially when the dark sword hummed at me every time I set eyes upon it.

Dawn had just risen, my body clock adjusted to the timing of the sun in a way I had never experienced before, even when working early shifts in my world, and after strapping my scabbard to my belt and securing my gifted elven bow to my back, I began to make my way down to the central courtyard of Rivendell. I had watched many elves arrive and depart through the great archway that led into the forest city, but I myself had no recollection of doing so, even though I must’ve done.

Gandalf and Aragorn, Estel sorry, were conversing in low tones ahead of me, each holding onto the reigns of their own horses as Estel petted the nose of a lithe black horse. A freisian stallion, I think.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself for my first adventure, at least the first one I would remember.

Suddenly, Estel raised his head at my approach, though I’m certain he probably had heard me before he looked up, and smiled thinly, his eyes remaining guarded.

Gandalf however beamed brightly, “Lady Olivia! I don’t believe you remember meeting Estel here, do you? He was the one who found you and brought you to safety,”

“Oh!” I said, surprised Estel was the Dunedain I was lucky enough to cross paths with, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m very grateful you found me, I’d certainly be dead if you hadn’t,” I smiled at him and Estel met my gaze with his own intense eyes.

He was rugged, and handsome, with messy brown hair and the beginnings of stubble growing into beard suits his sharp jaw. His eyes were what drew me in though, I had expected the clearest blue like in the movies, but instead I was met with stormy grey, unparelled intelligence hiding in their depths.

All in all, the Once and Future King of Gonder was very handsome. I could see why Arwen was interested in him.

“And I you, Lady Olivia, I’m glad to see you are well,” Estel said and it seemed like nothing more than a standard greeting, as if he was reading from prepared cue cards or something. I didn’t really blame him for his distance, even if it hurt a little, I wouldn’t have trusted me either, but he seemed to respect the authority of Lord Elrond and Gandalf to agree to questing with me.

Gandalf grinned again, “now that we’re all acquainted again, we must be off, it will take us three weeks to get there, provided we are not interrupted and our steeds are swift.”

I nodded, eyeing my horse with hesitancy, “I don’t know if I remember how to ride...” I said quietly, shame bubbling inside my stomach as I realised there were probably a fair few hidden talents that I don’t remember acquiring.

Swallowing thickly, before Gandalf or Estel said anything, I placed my left foot in the stirrup and swung myself up onto my horse, who grunted at my ministrations, and secured the reins in my hands. Gently, I nudged the horse’s flanks with my heels and he began an obedient trot.

I grinned, “seems I don’t need to remember to actually do it! That’s good to know, I can’t ride a bike and thought it might be similar,”

“What is a bike?” Estel asked, confusion marring his handsome face.

For a second I stared at him, debating whether or not I should tell him, I didn’t know if Estel knew that I was from another world, but Gandalf made the decision for me.

“He knows of your origin, fear not, Olivia,” the wizard reassured me, which helped alleviate some anxiety, but I was still nervous about how much information I should share. That was a predicament I had no doubt I’d be mulling over for however long I remained in Middle Earth. To my inevitable death probably.

Emboldened by Gandalf’s assurance, I answered, “a bike is a mode of transportation made up of metal and two wheels, you sit on a seat using your legs to power the wheels and have handlebars attached to the front wheel which you use to control the bike,”

Estel looked intrigued, “I have never heard of such a...contraption,”

I shrugged, “most people in my world learn to ride one, I did too as a child but my mum drove over my barbie bike and I just never took up biking again,”

“I only understood half of what you said,” Estel said, though not unkindly.

Grinning, I said, “don’t worry about it, the point is I can’t ride a bike, but I can ride a horse so that doesn’t matter,”

Estel nodded, and soon our conversation lapsed into silence, our horses increased to a light canter as we followed ancient paths through the forest that encompassed Rivendell.

I was grateful I wasn’t made to wear a dress, my tunic and breeches were far more comfortable and riding a horse for three weeks straight side saddle just wasn’t something I was even willing to mentally entertain, even if I were to look like a beautiful elven princess. Especially with my charred arm, I’d certainly make an unusual sight.

Days past, and never once did either Estel or Gandalf enquire about my deadly curse, either out of politeness or aversion I didn’t really care.

I missed having Soarise to talk to, she was my dearest friend, and as I had no idea how long I’d been here I had no idea if she even knew I was gone, and I missed her terribly. It was a saddening realisation, one I bottled deep inside of me to deal with at a later date.

Something I learned about travelling in a medieval time period is that it is 1. Slow, and 2. Boring. When I’d travelled in the past, I’d always had some form of entertainment, and the longest journey I’d taken was thirteen hours on a plane stocked with movies and music. Now, I only had the company of my companions and the twittering of birds.

And so I paid attention to my surroundings, memorising the scenery and mentally mapping out everything I saw. I had played enough survival video games to know that a mental map is essential to progressing through the game. The major difference here though was that this wasn’t a game, and if I died here then there was no extra lives and no reloading a save. If I died, then I died.

“Which road are we taking?” I asked my companions.

It was Gandalf who answered me, “we pass through the Misty Mountains and Eagles Eyrie to cross the River Anduin, and then follow the river north to reach the Elvenking’s Halls.”

“Cool,” I said, “I have some idea where all that stuff is in relation to each other, but not much,”

Gandalf chuckled, “you will see, but for now we make camp,” he halted his horse and dismounted, Estel and I following his lead.

“I will hunt for dinner, Olivia will come with me,”

I turned around, brows raised as I unsaddled my horse, Fuine was his name, “you want me to go with you?”

Estel nodded, “I need to assess your abilities, you survived Mordor; I want to see how,”

Shrugging, I walked over to him, “and hunting animals will show you?”

“It will at least make you more useful,” he said, cracking a small smile.

I let out a surprised laugh, “can’t argue with that, lead the way then,” I said, gesturing for Estel to lead me wherever he chose. The amount of trust I was placing in these too was phenomenal, but I supposed I didn’t really have a choice. I didn’t want to get lost and/or starve to death.

Estel led me a little ways from our camp in the clearing, farther up a steep slope until we reached the base of the mountain, a gap crafted from the rock that revealed a path up ahead.

“That will be our road on the morrow,” Estel said, his voice lowered as he crouched behind a large fallen log, “it is also used by hares,”

I knelt down beside him, “that’s what we’re hunting now?” I whispered to him.

Estel nodded, “indeed,” he readied his bow, and I followed suit.

Archery was something I had excelled at in my youth, and I had always been a decent shot, but I knew I was nothing compared to Estel, and that my skills must improve if I wished to catch prey as flighty as a hare.

“Hunting is mostly waiting,” Estel said, “and if you intend to camp in an area for a prolonged amount of time then simple traps are far more efficient, look there,” he gestured ahead of us, two hares grazing on the tall grass that grew at the side of the road, “but we are here for one night, and as such will only require a few shots,”

I nodded, “do you want to shoot or should I?” I whispered.

Estel readied his bow, “I will shoot first, and then you will shoot second, understood?” He asked.

Once again, I nodded, and held still as I heard Estel take a deep breath and line his arrow up.

The bow was a silent weapon, and I held back my gasp of excitement as Estel’s arrow pierced the first hare’s throat, quickly followed by another arrow piercing the second.

He crept out from behind our cover, snatching the hares from the road.

I held back to queasiness I felt at seeing the blood pouring out of their necks, very much aware that I would probably be seeing far more bloodshed in the future. And probably had seen in the past.

“More will come,” Estel said, “and you will shoot them,”

Ten minutes or so passed by before a few more hares appeared from the passage, and I knocked my arrow.

“Take a deep breath as you knock the arrow, and loose it when you release,” Estel instructed, he seemed to know that the bow was familiar in my hands, but I had never shot a living creature before, at least not that I remembered.

I swallowed thickly, breathing in deeply as I trained my arrow on the biggest hare, timing my shot with the thudding of my heart.

The hare sniffed the air, ears twitching as he picked up our scent.

“You must be swift,” Estel said, “or he will escape, try to clear your mind of any distractions,”

_Right_ , I said to myself, _no distractions_.

It was easier said than done, but eventually I loosed my arrow, and a split second later it whistled through the air and straight into the chest of the hare.

The other hares didn’t have time to react, two more arrows of Estel’s piercing their throats. The hare that I had shot keened in distress, his feet beating away at the grass as he struggled.

Estel collected the other hares as I knelt beside the one I had shot, his eyes wide in fear as he stared at me. I had shot him, blood poured from the wound as the arrow shook from the force of the hare’s thrashing, it was a haunting feeling to know that you had another creature at your mercy, and the act of violence was achingly familiar. I don’t know when, or how, but I ended lives before and I found myself disturbed by the ease in which I felt at the revelation.

“Olivia,” Estel said, snapping me from my reverie, he held my dagger out to me, I hadn’t even noticed him unsheathe it from my person, “you must finish what you started,”

I nodded numbly, taking the blade and bringing it to the hare’s neck.

“I have killed before,” I said quietly, “it is familiar to me,”

Estel merely nodded, “the cursed sword you carry is proof enough of that, but I have always found that while experience may bring ease it also brings understanding. You will eat this hare, so his death is not meaningless,”

I sliced the hare’s neck and he fell limp into my hand, “does that make it okay though? Back in my world we have people with certain diets, vegetarians we call them, who forgo meat entirely and only eat non-meat, though I am not vegetarian myself,”

“Some cultures here do the same, like the Green-elves of Ossiriand, but most people do not have the luxury of choice,” Estel said, leading me back to camp.

I nodded, “It is a luxury where I come from too, especially veganism, which is the practice of not consuming any animal by product, including dairy and leather too,”

“Your world sounds...paradise-like,” Estel said.

Shrugging again, I replied, “it’s not, a lot of veganism requires natural food sources to be imported from far off countries where the poorest harvest and can’t consume what they naturally eat. I don’t think anything is as simple as ‘paradise’,”

“We do what we must to survive, and so long as we have strength in our bodies and hope in our hearts, I believe that we are capable of anything, even this veganisim you speak of,” Estel said, “and it is admirable to want to preserve all life, if ultimately impossible,”

I smiled at Estel, “y’know I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone phrase it like that before, even with all the debates topics like veganisim brings up, I agree with you though,”

Estel smiled back, “come,” he said, “I will show how to start a fire and cook our meat, we will have to preserve some of this though; our trek through the mountains may not bring us as much food as we need, and we cannot allow our supplies to dwindle,”

The sun was beginning to fall below the tree line by the time we returned to camp, Gandalf had already got the beginnings of a fire started after he had unpacked our belongings and tied up the horses.

“I see you bring us a bounty!” Gandalf said gleefully, puffing at his pipe, “I began our fire, but I think Olivia should light it,”

I nodded, handing Estel my hares and kneeling before the fire. It was a simple one, enough to ward off the cold, cook meat, and light our clearing.

Taking the flint and steel from Estel, I hit them against each other to persuade small sparks to light the dry grass but I had little luck. Frustration began to creep in as I kept failing to light the fire, the darkness around us falling quickly.

“Here,” Estel said, “you need to be more firm, you will not harm yourself,” he took the flint and steel from me, bashing them together enough before sparks flashed in front of me, alighting the dry grass and quickly building in the rock barrier of the fire.

I smiled sheepishly, “thanks, Estel,”

He nodded, and took the hares to the stream that ran swiftly past us, “we must skin our prey, and allow to the river to wash away any blood and guts,”

“So we don’t attract predators, right?” I questioned, watching Estel with curious eyes.

He smiled at me, “correct, have you done this before?”

“A long time ago, I grew up on an isolated farm in the middle of the country; my family owned the land so I was raised to help out where I could, for a time anyway,” I explained, copying how Estel skinned and gutted the hare in his hand.

It was gruesome, and I held back a gag at the smell, but the work was satisfying.

“For a time? You did not spend all your childhood there?” He enquired. Estel had chosen the appropriate dialogue options to unlock my basic back story.

I nodded, “yeah, we moved to a more suburban area in a different country when I was ten, my life changed quiet drastically and I had stopped practicing riding and archery when we moved,”

“Did you want to leave?”

Shrugging, I placed the meat on the pile of leaves we were using to store it, “I don’t think I really understood at the time, but in hindsight I can’t really say I wish we had never moved at all, I doubt I’d be the same person I am now if we hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have the Charring though,”

Estel fell silent, I could practically hear him thinking, and I wish I’d never mentioned my ailment, even though I didn’t have the luxury of distancing myself from it like others did. I had never fully considered what living with an ongoing illness was like, but it turned out it fucking sucks and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I wondered how I’d feel in a years time, if I even lived that long.

Finally, Estel spoke, “I have often wondered how different I would’ve been if my life, and the lives of my parents, had the choices they made have been different too, but like you I do not wish to change the past, even if I had the power.”

That was a bold statement for Estel, especially as I knew what the future held for him, and little bit of his backstory. I was unsure if Gandalf or Lord Elrond had mentioned my uncanny ability to read awfully relevent books and reveal important information accidentally, but learning of Estek’s life through him was my preferred method of getting to know someone, and I really wanted to be his friend.

Despite the vastness of Middle Earth, I found it to be a rather lonely place, and I only really had two friends, if I could count Gandalf and Lord Elrond as my friends. I wasn’t sure, all I knew was that they were kind to me when they had no reason too, just like Estel was being now.

I smiled at him, “I hope we become friends, Estel,” I said.

He smiled softly back, “I do too, Olivia,”


	3. Of Bandits and Bitching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i tried formatting this chapter in a different way, let me know if you guys prefer this way or the previous ways I've been doing it. Also I'm planning on Aragorn and Olivia having a proper bff sibling relationship too btw, so dont worry die hard Aragorn/Arwen fans i'm not gonna write Olivia in with him

Dawn had arrived far too early, but my time in Rivendell had enabled me to rise with the birdsong. Estel shifted beside me, kneeling as he packed up his equipment from the night’s watch.

“Good morning, Olivia,” he said softly, “I trust you slept well?”

I sat up, stretching languidly and wincing as I heard by back crack, “I’ve had worse,” I said, “but I guess a bedroll on the ground is better than no bedroll on the ground,” I joked.

Estel chuckled lightly, “There is some left over hare for breakfast, Gandalf and I have already eaten, we leave in half an hour,”

The hare was eaten quickly, and when I wrapped my hand around the leather scabbard containing my sword I felt it hum in disapproval. It didn’t seem to approve of my choice of companions, but I didn’t care.

The camp was packed and the horses were mounted, Gandalf taking the lead to guide us through the rocky path that would lead us through the perilous mountains.

Sunlight failed to reach the bottom of the mountain path, and I shivered at the lingering chill in the air. Odd, I realised, as it was the middle of June, and with a quick glance at my companions I realised that the cold did not affect them. I swallowed thickly, eyes darting hurriedly to the dark sword at my hip and shuddered at the revelation my coldness was of supernatural origin. The sword wanted my attention, and I knew that today was going to be one of those days.

Both Gandalf and Estel seemed to sense my discomfort, but neither mentioned it, instead they attempted to distract me with idle chit-chatter, and to my delight Estel regaled me with tales of mischief from his youth with Elladan and Elrohir.

“The twins had always enjoyed hiding in trees and scattering leaves on those who walked unsuspected beneath them.” I smirked at Estel’s story, well aware of the twins’ antics, “Occasionally, they’d even attempt to frighten them, but after Glorfindel tied them both to the same tree for their troubles they had learned to accept that some victims were best left alone.”

I chortled a laugh, “I imagine he didn’t appreciate their practical jokes, even if they manage to bring levity to even the most dire of situations,” I said, grinning at Estel.

Gandalf huffed out a laugh between puffs of pipe weed, “Indeed! Lord Elrond’s sons may be seasoned warriors, but they do act like children sometimes, and from what I hear _you_ rather enjoy joining them, Olivia,” he teased.

Flashing the old wizard a cheeky grin, I shrugged, “I don’t know what you mean, Gandalf, surely you wouldn’t assume one so serious as I would even dream of causing torment to another being?”

“I am well aware of your finer qualities, dear girl, just as much as I’m aware of your less than ladylike ones,” Gandalf said dryly.

I giggled, “Yes, well, when you’re as doomed as I am surely some humour is a necessary balm?”

It was inappropriate, everyone I had met had gone to great lengths to avoid speaking of my...ailment, but Estel had grown up with Elladan and Elrohir, and it seemed I had chipped away enough of his many, many layers to lull him into comfort.

“It certainly helps you,” Estel said, almost sounding wistful, “but humour can lead to foolishness, you must not lose sight of who you are in the light of your circumstances,”

It was sage advice, one I would take to heart, but as I studied Estel’s face I saw beyond the mask he insisted on wearing. He seemed...sad, and defeated. I knew Lord Elrond had told him of his true identity already, and I knew that he was already old and had been denied Arwen’s affections by her father, I felt pity and empathy fill me. Estel’s life had been tumultuous at best and its path had been decided by people other than him.

We weren’t so different, it seemed.

Silence fell upon us once more, though this one was more comfortable than I had previously experienced.

Eventually the sun rose to its peak, the rays bouncing off the rocky walls and bathing us in a sweltering heat.

I shifted on Fuine, who huffed in annoyance at my jostling, as I attempted to remove my green woollen cloak. Sweat had started beading on the back of my neck, and with a startling hum from the dark sword I realised it wasn’t just from the heat.

Shadows danced on the ground, armed figures moving above us, and with a careful glance up as I removed the cloak inconspicuously I saw the reflection of sunlight on metal high above.

“Uhh,” I began, “Gandalf...”

“Shh!” He hushed me harshly, manoeuvring his dappled grey horse beside mine and lowering his voice, “We are am aware, discreetly unsheathe your weapon, and await my signal,”

I nodded my understanding, moving my cloak to my lap and covering my accursed sword, my bandaged hand grasping the hilt tightly. It hummed in satisfaction, imploring to draw the blade and spill the blood of my enemies. I resisted, awaiting Gandalf’s signal.

More flashes of light caught my eye, heading behind us, and I knew that whoever was stalking us was planning a quick invasion.

“Bandits,” Estel whispered, “this will not be pleasant,”

Swallowing back my fear, and my disturbing excitement, I clenched my jaw, very much aware that I would be killing people, and this time I would remember the bloodshed I caused. It was both nauseating and exhilarating.

I mentally counted six bandits, maybe even more, but they would be no match for a wizard, a hiding king, and a cursed girl. Gods, that sounded like the opening of a bad joke.

Taking another deep breath to calm my nerves, and calm the sword that begged me to slaughter my companions too, some large pebbles skittered down the rock face beside me, falling beneath Fuine’s hooves.

He whinnied fiercely, and before I knew what was happening a second body dropped behind me, arm slinging around me body and knife pressed tightly to the skin of my throat.

“Move and the woman dies!” The bandit shouted behind me, spittle flying from his mouth. His breath smelled terrible, like rotting meat, and I wasted no time.

I released my sword and gripped the blade at my throat with my charred hand and _pushing_ , the affect instantaneous.

My vision narrowed, supernatural strength flowing through my veins as the dark sword begged to be used. I denied it, using my grip on the bandit’s blade to fling him overhead, his arm ripping off as blood showered from his wound.

I heard my companions shout, but their words were meaningless, and I knew battle had erupted around me.

Gandalf’s staff entered my vision, thwacking a particularly young looking bandit on the head with a heavy thunk, before his sword plunged into the lad’s body.

A heavy bandit tried to grab at me, and I finally gave into the dark sword’s begging.

With a terrifyingly easy grip, I unsheathed Ancalagonél, the dark hilt a stark contrast to the gleam of the silver blade, and I whipped it around, beheading the heavy bandit in one fell swoop. I had half expected the sword to be heavy and unwieldy, to my knowledge I’d never actually fought with a sword before, but we moved as one, to kill with the dark sword was as natural as breathing.

Estel was locked in combat with two bandits, both bigger than him, which was not an easy feat I assure you, and I bashed the shorter one with the sword, his helmet caving in as blood and teeth rained down from the bottom of the helmet, Estel slew the taller one, his face a mask of horror. I couldn’t meet his eye, and I didn’t care, the sword wanted Estel’s blood, and insisted I make his insides become his outsides.

Gandalf shouted again, in another language, and Ancalagonél burned in my charred hand, the heat rising to an unbearable temperature, forcing me to drop the cursed sword and fall to my knees with a harrowing cry that echoed through the mountain passage.

I scrambled back, tears flowing down my cheeks like a waterfall, as I tried to put as much distance between me and the _evil_ sword. It hummed in satisfaction, trying to coax me back into picking it up.

“Olivia!” I heard Estel shout, ignoring Gandalf’s warning shout, “Olivia!” He repeated, kneeling beside me and wrapping his long arms around my shaking shoulders as I sobbed.

In the warmth of Estel’s embrace, I finally calmed down enough to meet his eyes and had to choke back another sob at the pure unmasked _concern_ in his stormy gaze.

“It does not hold you,” he said with such conviction, “you are not _him_ ,”

I swallowed thickly, eyes slowly looking around the destruction I had wrought.

There were eleven bandits in total, five of them felled by clean, precise sweeps that provided a swift death. But the other six…

The other six were missing limbs, the first bandit who had grabbed was still alive, moaning and cursing the ‘evil witch’ as he bled to death. Gandalf slit his throat, his mercy admirable. The other bandits had charred holes in them where I had pierced their flesh, and charred stumps from dismemberment.

I felt utterly sick to my soul, knowing that I had caused such unnatural destruction, and eventually I set a harsh glare on the despicable sword that had taken over my mind and body, forcing me to kill without a second thought.

You never really know what you’re capable of until you’re forced to do it, and I had never considered myself a killer, even with the nightmares that plagued my sleep assuring me of the atrocities the sword had forced me to commit.

There was no fog this time, no amnesia to cloud the events that had taken place.

I was a _murderer_.

“No,” Estel said softly, and that was when I realised I must’ve spoken my thoughts aloud, “you are a _defender_ , these men have no doubt killed countless souls that have tried to cross here, and they wouldn’t have stopped until we were dead too,”

I shook my head, “but I-I-I,” a fresh wave of tears engulfed me as sure as Estel’s arms, and I heard Gandalf kneel beside us.

“Estel is right, your reaction to death is natural, and the events that led you here are not only of your own doing,” Gandalf said, “but you must not succumb to the power Ancalagonél offers you, lest you become the very thing you fear so much,” his voice was stern but not unkind.

Shakily, I rose, moving myself from Estel’s embrace no matter how much I wanted to remain and be comforted, but I stared resolutely at the dark sword that lay several feet away from me.

It seemed to gleam under my gaze, as if it were proud of the blood we had shed together. _Together_.

I walked up to it, and carefully leaned down the graze my fingers against its hilt. It hummed once more, but I resolutely set up a barrier in my head, ignoring how the blood on the blade seem to sink into it until it was as clean as before I unsheathed it.

“You will not best me,” I said, clenching my jaw, the hum turning into a dull ache in my head as I sheathed the blade once more.

They were concerned, but I was not so naive to miss the wariness that Gandalf and Estel regarded me with. They had never seen Ancalagonél in action before, and certainly had never seen me fight, and they probably wished they’d never even met me. It was a sickening thought to realise that I was capable of such terrible things, my existence really was cursed.

We mounted our horses, and I ignored my companions’ gazes for the rest of our journey.

\-----

We didn’t see any eagles at Eagle’s Eyrie and even though I didn’t voice my questions, Gandalf seemed able to answer them anyway.

“They are not bound by the same laws as other beings,” the wizard explained, “the great eagles have always lived by their own laws, and we must respect their way of life,”

I nodded, but offered no further comfort.

The only interaction I had was with Fuine, who seemed to be completely unaffected by my violent display with the bandits, even as the other horses regarded me with something close to fear, though I did not blame them.

I had tried writing in my leather journal, a gift from Lord Elrond who had noticed my love of reading and writing, but the constant bobbing of Fuine had made writing difficult, even with my improvised pen. I simply refused to use quill and inkwell, it was far too fiddly, and I knew that schematics of pens well enough to hire an elf to craft one.

“The River Anduin is close now,” Estel said, one of his many attempts to get me to engage with them again, “it runs the length of the entire continent and is by far the greatest river in all of Middle Earth,” I already knew this, but I nodded to show I was listening.

“Mirkwood is not much farther, and we will cut across the forest to make our way to the Elvenking’s Halls,” Gandalf informed.

My head shot up, “Wait,” I said, the first thing I said in a week, “I thought we were following the river north and taking the Forest River into Mirkwood?”

Estel smiled widely at me, joy shining in his eyes at hearing my voice. It was no matter, I’d return to sulking once my shock abated.

Gandalf puffed on his pipe again, “Our road is becoming more treacherous, and Estel and I have both travelled through the forest before, we know the way, even with the giant spiders,”

I gulped, fear making my heart race, “Spiders? _Giant_ spiders? I’m really not good with spiders...”

“Do not fret, we will no doubt encounter a Mirkwood patrol who can guide us through the easiest path, we may not even encounter the spiders,” Estel said soothingly, “you may even be able to continue with your brooding,”

I scoffed, “I do not _brood_ ,”

“You’ve been doing it all week,” Estel teased, “or is tat your usual disposition and you’ve just been deceiving us all with joviality?”

“I don’t brood!” I said, leaning over Fuine, who huffed in distaste, to lightly whack Estel on the arm.

He laughed, tossing his head back and it was then I noticed strands of silver in his mess of brown hair. Estel was beginning to show his age, even if he looked years younger when he smiled.

“You may not brood but you certainly sulk,” Estel said, “you could win an award for it,”

“Olivia the Silverhaired, Master of Sulking!” Gandalf cried, joining in with Estel’s teasing.

My nose scrunched up in annoyance, but I said no more, knowing that it would only lead to more undeserving teasing.

Personally, I think I had the God given right to sulk. Or was it Eru given? Surely if I was in Middle Earth, pulled here by forced beyond my own comprehension then perhaps Eru Illuvatar was real?

I had never really believed in any religious deity before, but my experiences here were really forcing me to rethink my stance on divine beings.

Either way, I decided to pick a God and pray as we came to the roaring waves of the River Anduin.

“We have to cross that?” I asked incredulously, “Can our horses even make it? Maybe we should’ve just taken the Old Forest Road like Elladan had suggested?”

“We’re not turning back now,” Gandalf said, “and that old road hasn’t been in use for years for good reason, we will not tempt fate by chancing it,”

I shrugged, “So what now then?”

Estel sat up straighter, “There is an old bridge two miles to the north, originally used by traders, but since the Gap of Rohan had been secured it fell into disuse,”

I was sceptical to say the least, “So instead of one old bridge we’re going to use another? Isn’t that still tempting fate,”

“Perhaps,” Gandalf said, “but it is preferable to the Old Forest Road,”

“Why’s that?” I asked, confused to Gandalf’s reasoning.

The old wizard lowered his bushy brows, levelling me with a glare that made me feel like a child questioning their grandparent.

No more discussion was had on the topic as Estel led us the bridge he’d mentioned and once it came into view I realised I didn’t care about Gollum or fate or anything else at all other than _not_ crossing that bridge.

Even Fuine, who I’m certain was the bravest being in Middle Earth, was hesitant to step foot on the splintered, weathered wood of the bridge.

“I can’t swim,” I said, trying to urge Fuine across the bridge as Gandalf led the way, with Estel behind me.

“I will save you if you fall,” Estel said, “but I’d rather you didn’t fall into the river,”

“uh, yeah, I’d rather that too, drowning is _not_ on my list of ways to die,” I said nervously.

Gandalf seemed completely unperturbed by the raging river beneath him, “Most young women don’t have a list of way to die, y’know,”

I scowled, “Most young women don’t have an incurable illness slowly eating them to death,”

He didn’t have a comeback for that, something I’d never witnessed before, but I didn’t dwell on it, more focused on crossing the river safely instead.

Fuine wobbled dangerously, my eyes trained on his hooves and repeating the mantra of ‘don’t fall, don’t fall’ in my head.

A strong wind decided to blow through the Anduin, and I felt the bridge creak and moan, my heart quickening in fear and I naturally grasped the hilt of my dark sword to ground myself.

That was a terrible idea.

Instantly, visions flashed before my eyes of arterial spray and severed limbs, the taste of blood assaulted my tongue, and I bit down hard enough to keep from crying out that I _actually_ could taste blood on my tongue.

Fuine had made it to the other side of the river, and I desperately tried to calm my rising panic, when I saw an arrow pointed directly at my face.

“Move and you die,” a lilting voice said.

The dark sword sang, and my vision swam as my hand tightened on the hilt.


	4. Of Elves and Errant Girls

“Captain Tauriel!” Gandalf cried, Estel’s arm tightening around me to quell my urge to defend myself, “Lord Elrond of Rivendell had bade us to insist in the capture of a certain someone,”

Tauriel narrowed her eyes at us, stepping forward to the elf that held an arrow at my face.

“You are welcome here, Mithrandir, and Estel too, but who is this woman? None are permitted to enter the Woodland Realm!”

Estel smiled openly, “This is my sister, Olivia, she is accompanying us in our quest,”

I tried not to let my face show any emotion, especially after hearing Estel lie, but Tauriel seemed somewhat satisfied by his words.

“You will be escorted to our King, he will decide whether she is of threat or not,”

Estel’s lie was good idea, and I was bright enough to know that neither he nor Gandalf wished for me to reveal my true identity to this elleth, even if I knew her temperament.

The thing I was most concerned about was that Tauriel existed at all. She was made up for the Hobbit trilogy movie, and had no bearing in any of Tolkien’s work. Did that mean the Middle Earth I was experiencing was a mash up of all interpretations? Or was it a completely separate existence to all my knowledge?

It was a sobering thought, and made predicting the events that were to come all the more complicated.

The contrast of my problems now was an unusual shift in priorities. Before I had been transported to Middle Earth I mostly worried about money and Overwatch. And that was it. Like, literally, I had no great quest to venture on, no one really relied upon me, and consequences were more like abstract concepts than physical things.

Here though, if I fucked up I killed people.

I was pushed out of my completely irrelevant thoughts by a hard nudge from the elf that had pointed an arrow in my face. Scowling at him, I lengthened my stride to match Estel’s and walk beside him, if I was going to be treated rudely then I’d be treated rudely next to the Once and Future King of Gondor, thank you very much.

Mirkwood was mirky, to no ones surprise, but the trees that groaned their greeting had clearly once held great beauty, and the air was fresh and clean, hinting to a long history that had been forgotten after Sauron’s evil had tainted the once beautiful forest.

Tauriel was leading us through a winding path, mindful of her footsteps with an inherent grace that seemed to accompany all the elves I had met so far. Her long auburn hair stood out starkly against the earthen colours of the dark forest and I wondered how she managed to effortless blend in with her surroundings when she had a beacon on her head. I suppose I was rather similar in that respect, my own silver hair was rather inconspicuous.

Estel stayed glued to my right side, and Gandalf flanked my left. They never said anything, but I knew that they were debating whether or not I was safe here.

The thought filled me with warmth, especially as I did not expect kindness in any form any more, not now most people treated me like a leper once they knew of my mysterious illness.

We walked for a few hours, and I kept an ear out for the scuttling of the giant spiders I had been warned about, when Tauriel stopped abruptly, causing me to nearly walk into her if it weren’t for Estel’s patient hand on my wrist.

Her head cocked to the side, and I realised she was listening to something that my inferior human ears couldn’t detect. Our company waited with bated breath, all the elves nocked an arrow in their bows.

The wind rustled passed and brought with it an unfamiliar scent, one that reminded me of mud and death. The trees groaned again, the timber sombre as if to warn us against whatever it was that Tauriel had heard.

A moment passed, and then another, before Tauriel finally relaxed and contiuned her walking.

Whatever it was she had heard, she decided that the danger it presented had passed. I was grateful for that, if it was a giant fucking spider I’d have been so useless.

“We are close,” Tauriel said in English, or Common rather, but I was still tense, she may have dismissed whatever it was that had caused her to be on edge but something was wrong, my intuition was screaming at me.

The dark sword began to hum, a warning that echoed around my skull incessantly, and I realised that whatever it was warning me about was in line with my intuition.

I had to tell Tauriel, but to do that I also had to let her in on my shameful little secret, and I was certain I’d regret it if I did.

My anxiety rose, and I knew what was about to happen before it did.

With a quick glance to Gandalf, I tried to warn him, but everything happened so quickly that I was unable to.

The ground began to rumble, and several giant spiders came sprinting out from between the trees. Shouts sounded around me, and Estel pulled me behind him, Gandalf shouting out a warning before a blast of wind knocked some of the spiders from their long legs.

The dark sword begged to be unsheathed, but I resisted, instead reaching for my bow and aiming at the first spider I saw.

Fear started blurring my vision and I loosed arrow after arrow, desperately trying to kill the bloody thing, but it kept screeching, staggering towards me with reignited anger after each arrow hit.

My heart beat erratically, blood pumping in my ears and I felt my throat constrict as terror gripped me in a vice. The dark sword was screaming in my head, promising me a swift death to the spiders, but again I refused to touch it.

The spider finally fell, but my relief was short lived when another spider descended upon me, and I wasn’t quick enough, its fangs sunk in deep to my left arm, the one that was charred, blood pouring from the wound. It burned terribly, but adrenaline fuelled me, and with a swift tug my arm came out of the spider’s mouth, fangs buried deeply in the blackened flesh were ripped from its corpse.

Estel was behind it, his sword buried deeply in its skull, but my eyes were focused on the fangs still sunk into my flesh.

Tauriel shouted something that I couldn’t hear as Gandalf immediately dropped to my side, gingerly taking my arm and examining the fangs.

They were easily at least six inches long each, with about three inches buried deep in my arm through the layers of cloth and bandage. I was fortunate it was this arm the spider had elected to bite; I had no doubt that my right arm would’ve been torn clean off.

“Don’t move!” Gandalf ordered as he examined the wound, “The venom will spread quickly, we must get her the antidote as soon as possible!” He commanded Tauriel, who actually looked concerned for my well-being, a serious contrast to the way she regarded me earlier.

She nodded swiftly, “The entrance to the city is near, but she must be carried,”

Estel wasted no time, scooping me up into his arms with no hesitation as I began to feel the spider’s venom set in.

Colours brightened and distorted around me, voices sounding distant but loud, like a weird ASMR, and I compared the whole experience to a psychedelic drug I definitely didn’t take while partying in university.

The dark sword was calling to me again, and I desperately hoped Gandalf realised that I threw it to the ground once the fighting broke out. I really didn’t want to venture back into the spider infested forest to search for it, especially as I had no idea what else could come across such a dangerous weapon in my absence.

I think I said something, or perhaps Estel did, but in my disillusioned state I wasn’t really fully aware of what was occurring around me.

Eventually, I just decided to give up trying to make sense of anything and the world faded away.

\-----

I could feel silk beneath me, and the acrid stench of smoke filled my lungs and yet I was unable to cough. I tried swallowing to alleviate my discomfort, I tried moving my body too but I was still lying still, as if I were as hard and unmoving as whatever it was I was lying on.

Fear clawed at me then, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t open my eyes, and the only senses I had access to was my hearing and smell.

Something was wrong, the ever present ambiguous feeling I had discerned came from elves and only elves was not preset here, which didn’t make sense as I was supposedly in Mirkwood.

Wait? Was I in Mirkwood? Did I need to be in Mirkwood? What even was Mirkwood? My mind was blank, the only thought that stayed long enough in my head was the pervading sense of danger. Was I injured?

I don’t know how long I lay there, the horrible feeling of sleep paralysis gripping me in its icy grip. It felt like a demon sitting on my chest.

“There is no demon,” a sinister voice to my left said, hovering above me, and through my closed eyelid I saw shadow move over me. Whoever they were, they were very close to my being. I felt threatened in a way I never had before.

I wanted to ask who they were, and why they had apparently drugged me to remain still on an uncomfortable table.

The voice laughed softly, but there was no warmth to it, “You are the first to comment on the comfort of your stay, but I’m afraid you will find no relief here,”

So this terrible person could read my thoughts. Wonderful.

“How else am I expected to communicate with you? You screamed yourself hoarse for the first week, and your thrashing was most distracting, restraint was necessary,” the voice said, and my body attempted an involuntary shudder at the implications. The first week, how long had I been here and how long had my memory failed me?

“As long as I have need of you, and as long as I will have need of you, you are mine,” the voice said again, and quite frankly I wanted to fucking slug whoever this smug bastard was. Fear had given way to indignance, perhaps it was foolish but I didn’t care, patience was never a strong suit of mine and I was getting sick of being a helpless victim.

The voice laughed again, and I felt a cold hand gently caress my face and pet my hair.

“You will be _magnificent_ ,”

\-----

I jolted awake and upwards with a deafening scream, distantly aware of the shattering of ceramic hitting stone.

My scream stopped, but I couldn’t calm my racing heart and I leapt out of the wooden bed I was in, staggering to the stone floor to dry heave, it felt as if my very heart was attempting to leave my body through my throat.

The woman who screamed, an elf I assumed, had sprinted away in fear, but was quickly replaced by six elven warriors, their arrows prepared to strike through the gaps in the bars of my jail cell.

I narrowed my eyes, very much aware of my charred hand clenching in the desire to kill. I ignored it, and was instantly glad that I didn’t have my dark sword with me.

Slowly, I raised my head, silver hair tumbling loose in knots down my back, and was met with the ice cold blue eyes of King Thranduil himself.

“Sire,” I said, bowing slowly.

He continued to stare at me, an unrecognizable expression on his face, when he raised his hand and the elven archers carefully lowered their bows.

“You made quite an entrance into my halls, Olivia,” he said neutrally.

I attempted to mask my surprise at his knowledge of my name. Estel and Gandalf must’ve informed him, and I realised that I couldn’t see them, or Tauriel and her patrol group, anywhere.

My eyes wanted to dart away, but I held his gaze, “My apologies, but I’m afraid I have no recollection of doing so,”

“The spider venom has that affect on those that are unfortunate to meet it, but considering your curious ailment it is no wonder you survived,” Thranduil said, and I wondered if he meant me harm or not. He had locked me in his dungeon, but I would probably have done the same if I was responsible for all those that lived in the city.

I shrugged, “I’ve learned to expect the unexpected now, and I’ve never encountered the giant spiders before so I wouldn’t know,”

“Indeed not,” he seemed pensive for a moment, but I knew he would speak again, “tell me why you have ventured so far,” he commanded.

Gandalf would’ve told him, I’m certain, but from what I knew of Thranduil he wanted to hear my own story and see if it matched up with my companions. He was a shrewd and careful ruler, it appeared, and wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if he thought me a threat.

“Lord Elrond of Rivendell insisted I accompany Gandalf and Estel to assist in the capture of Gollum, and I decided not to argue with him about it.” I said.

Thranduil almost smiled, “A wise decision, but perhaps a foolish girl should know not to wander into places she does not belong,”

“A foolish girl has contracted the most deadly illness in Middle Earth, death seems inevitable at this point, regardless of whether or not I belong,” I challenged him, and perhaps that was foolish in itself but I had little qualms, when a painful death is a certainty, you tend to see the world a bit differently.

The Elvenking actually did smile this time, “You think to impress me with your tongue? It takes more than a little orphan girl’s sharp wit to do that,”

“But you admit I have sharp wit, Sire, so at least we’re getting somewhere,” I said, “and you have no idea if I’m an orphan or not,” and could practically taste the scolding I had no doubt I’d be receiving from Gandalf later.

“Why else would you be in the position you’ve found yourself now? You are cursed and dying, and the cursed and dying tend to die with their family, not alone in the vastness of wilderness, and I know you are not Estel’s sister,” Thranduil said, his voice harsh and I felt a hollow fear creep inside me as I was reminded of my lucid nightmare before I woke.

“It is irrelevant how I came to be here; I just am, and what is it you intend to do to me?” I asked him, and it was then it occurred to me how at mercy I was to the Elvenking.

Thranduil smiled coldly again, “I could execute you, I could keep you, or I could free you, which do you prefer?”

“Doesn’t everyone prefer freedom?” I asked.

“Not everyone has the luxury, why should I free you? Persuade me,” he commanded, and while I had no desire to play his games, this was getting a little too close to Game of Thrones for my liking, I knew I had to appease him to survive. And I was getting rather good at survival.

And so, I began, “My name is Olivia, and I was infected with a deadly ailment without knowing how. I woke up in the House of Elrond with no prior knowledge to how I got there, but what I do know is that my chances of survival are pretty much non-existent. I’m going to die, or become a servant of evil, but before I do I intend to kill as many of Sauron’s servants as possible,” I swallowed thickly, angry tears beginning to burn my eyes, “I don’t care how long it takes or how treacherous the path, I am forced to endure this accursed existence and I will make Sauron suffer for doing this to me!”

A hushed silence fell, and for the longest time I was convinced that Thranduil would execute me.

And then he smiled, procuring the keys to the cell and unlocking the door, “any movement to indicate harm and I will have you killed instantly, but for now your companions are preparing to capture that ill-gotten creature, and you have no time to waste. Do not disappoint me, Olivia.”

He opened the cell door and strided away with his guard, long robe sweeping the stone floor elegantly.

I let out a breath of relief, and thanked God or the Valar or whoever for my ridiculous luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate to be that writer that begs for reviews but please let me know what you think? idk when it happened in fandom but ten or so years ago comments were so common but ive noticed that they aren't anymore, even on the most amazing fics, what do you guys think? have you noticed this too or is it just me?


	5. I'm keeping this btw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for mentioning of suicide

Mirkwood was the only other elven realm I had encountered aside from Rivendell, but the differences between the two were staggering.

Rivendell had held an inherent peace at its centre, a place that imbued all who dwelled there with wellness to both soul and body that reminded you why it was considered the healing capital of all known Arda.

Mirkwood in comparison was dark and foreboding, the elves here less wise and more dangerous, cut from the fear of the growing darkness in their woods in the growing shadow of Mordor’s expansion. It was not somewhere I felt comfortable, too infected with the same darkness that festered inside myself and screamed at me to let it in more. It was a shame, I could see the beauty of Greenwood the Great beneath the blanket of horror that Sauron had lain over the once great nation.

The elves here were not as wary as those in Rivendell, but they’re temperament was quick to anger and quicker to kill. Their loyalty to their ruler was apparent with every breath taken and I had absolutely no doubt that they would be more than happy to fulfil Thranduil’s orders to execute me should it be necessary. Common sense said that I should be fearful, but such a thing had fled me long ago, and now all that remained inside was a growing shadow in opposition to the evil darkness that had been forced into my body.

I wasn’t exaggerating what I had said to Thranduil when he bade me to convince him of my loyalties. Vengeance was a powerful motivator, and as a young woman I had already felt injustice at the hands of my own world, ignited by the tyranny of Sauron.

A day had passed, both for us to recuperate from our journey and so Estel, Gandalf, and Thranduil could come up with a plan to capture Gollum. I was invited to the meeting, but I declined in favour of food, a bath, and exploration.

I had always loved to wander new places, and the Elvenking’s Halls were similar to what was portrayed in the Hobbit movies, but there were significant differences that I knew existed due to this place being alive and real instead of just beautiful aesthetics to exist on screen.

History was rich here, carved into the very rock that protected the elves from the outside world. It was clear how they managed to hold their own when Mordor’s shadow had penetrated the forest surrounding so deeply.

Meat was more common in Mirkwood than in Rivendell, due to the numerous deer that bounded through the forest. I thought it strange as Mirkwood had been so heavily affected by Sauron’s evil, and yet it was also a comforting reminder that mother nature was something that all worlds were mercy too, and no growing shadow was invulnerable to the raw power that nature had over life.

Even if Middle Earth was ravaged by Sauron, I felt a sense of ease fill me with the knowledge that it wouldn’t last forever. All things must end, that was something my experience with the charring had taught me, and there was little use in trying to fight what must be.

Tauriel had returned my possessions to me, albeit with slight reservation which I dutifully ignored, and led me to Estel and Gandalf with a small hunting party at the great bridge that led into the Elvenking’s Halls. The sun had set long ago, and I only spotted them due to the light of the moon high in the night’s sky.

“Our scouts have located the creature Gollum,” Tauriel said, “Estel and Olivia shall track him to the waterfall south of the city, and my archers will be positioned above and ready to shoot on your command,”

Gandalf frowned, “Our goal is to capture him alive, he is no use to us dead nor will his death bring any good to this world. Do not forget that, Captain,” he chided Tauriel, who I could tell resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Understood, but if he attacks we will not hesitate, the lives of my elves are more important than the life of an unholy creature,”

I bite back a scoff, “Gollum doesn’t deserve to die because he was made into a wretched creature, but if he is dangerous then we will apprehend him, or do you think yourself incapable of capturing a malnourished little thing?”

She glared at me, but said nothing more I could understand, merely gave orders to her guard and we set off.

Perhaps my words were harsh but I didn’t care, Tauriel was passionate and I admired her conviction, but her brash personality, admittedly much like my own, was beginning to grate on my nervous. Shooting first and asking questions later doesn’t really work when you’re trying to capture and not kill.

Estel and I crouched, he pointed out the tracks Gollum had left and carefully made his way through the forest paths, concealing his footsteps as he went. I followed suit, briefly made aware of the elves soaring through the treetops above us, Gandalf and a few other elves in our wake.

Gollum was near, his tracks were fresh and the carcasses of small birds and lizards were littering his trail, their bones mangled and pieces of flesh still attached, flies had begun to buzz around.

“These kills are fresh,” Estel whispered to me, his voice low and his eyes trained on something in the distance, “we are close,”

Nodding my head, I moved forward, past Estel and hidden in the tree line that grew on the ledge of the cliff line made through years of the forest river cutting the earth into a deep ravine. I gulped, heights had bothered me greatly as a child, something I managed to quell with over enthusiastic tree climbing, but as I peered down the cliff face I realised that childhood fears have a way of coming back to you.

I swallowed thickly, averting my gaze from the ravine and tried to settle my turning stomach. Elves _really_ didn’t believe in safety rails, and I sorely hoped that the one difference I make in Middle Earth would be modern health and safety regulations.

“There,” Estel whispered, kneeling next to me as he peered into the ravine, “Gollum awaits, we can reach him by that path,” he pointed to literally the narrowest path leading down the ravine I had ever seen in my entire life, “I will approach from the front and chase him into you, when he reaches you wrap your arm around his throat and squeeze enough to subdue him.”

I looked at Estel incredulously, “You’re stronger and bigger than me, why don’t you grab him?”

“Your slight build will be to your advantage, and if you need to fight you have a less likely chance of falling to your death,” Estel said seriously,

I scoffed, “Your skills of persuasion need work, mate, but fine, let’s get this over with,” I said reluctantly, already shuffling away from Estel to prepare my descent.

The path was far narrower than I had anticipated, and with a quick glance above I spotted the elves positioning themselves with bows drawn. If Gollum did try to attack me or something then there’d be an arrow in his skull.

I couldn’t let that happen, I knew how important Gollum was to the destruction of the ring and if he were to die here then Sauron would most certainly rise back to power and plunge Middle Earth into an era of death and desolation.

Even if the price was my own life, I couldn’t let Gollum die.

Estel had taught me to mask the sound of my footsteps but my boots were too loud for my ears, so I took them off and prayed that my socks wouldn’t let me slip as I carefully snuck along the ravine path, Gollum never leaving my sights. I could barely see Estel, but his shadow moved swiftly opposite me, and I knew that he was closing in on Gollum.

The pincer attack was a good idea, provided we had anticipated Gollum’s movements correctly, and Estel gave me the signal. It was time, he was going to approach Gollum and scare him into me.

I heard a screech, moonlight glinting off pale skin and a lanky body ploughed into me.

“Gets off me! Nasty she-elf!” He screeched, sharp teeth bared as his wide eyes stared in horror at me, and more specifically my left hand.

He started saying something but I didn’t listen, and I cried out as those shark like teeth sunk into my arm when I wrapped it around his neck, he kept thrashing and I could feel my feet start to slip under his struggling.

A bony elbow caught me in the stomach and I saw Estel carefully traverse the path to reach us, but it was no use, rocks had began to slide from Gollum’s erratic thrashing, and block the path. I cried out again, falling backwards, one leg dangling off the path when I heard a familiar whistling sound.

“No!” I shouted out, and hurriedly shoved Gollum beneath my body, a small scream escaping my lungs as the arrow pierced my back. I really needed some armour.

“For fucks sake,” I moaned at the pain, and realised that Gollum had finally ceased in his thrashing.

“Olivia!” Estel called out, dislodging the rocks that had blocked his path. I gasped again in pain.

Swallowing thickly, I looked up, raising my arm in our signal for success, “he’s unconscious!” I shouted out, loud enough for both Estel and the elves to hear, “Don’t fucking shoot me again!”

I began to sway, both from pain and blood loss, when I felt Estel’s large hand on my shoulder, delicately holding me to stop all three of us from toppling over the ledge.

“Take it out,” I gasped out between pained breaths, “take it out and I can walk,”

Estel shook his head, looking back to gesture urgently, “I cannot, you’ll bleed out, and I cannot carry both you and Gollum from the ravine,”

I groaned, shuffling Gollum into Estel’s arms and using the rocky wall to stagger myself into a standing position, teeth clenching in pain as I accidentally jostled the arrow buried in the back of my left shoulder.

“This better be fucking worth it,” I grumbled to Estel, “or I’m gonna lose my shit,”

“If you weren’t injured I’d scold you for your language,” Estel chided, “but right now I’m just grateful you’re well enough to talk,”

Estel led the way, and I held onto the bottom of his tunic while my other hand steadied me when we walked, Estel gently asking me questions to keep me lucid as we reached the top of the ravine.

I swallowed thickly, eyes trained on my feet and before I knew it we were back on the forest path, Gandalf rushing forward to inspect the arrow.

“Confound it all, Olivia Silver-haired, can you not go one day without injury?!” He sounded angry, but I knew that it was to hide his concern. Gandalf may be grumpy but he cared very deeply for those he counted among his friends, and luckily I appeared to be one of them.

I let out a breathless chortle, “It’s not exactly my fault! Who’s the goddamn elf that stuck me with a goddamn arrow! I’m gonna kill ‘em!” I bit out between ragged breaths.

Silence fell over the company as Estel handed Gollum to one of the elves and immediately set about pulling the arrow out, torn rag from his tunic prepared to put pressure on the wound.

“This will hurt, Olivia,” he warned.

I scoffed again, “What like it doesn’t now?”

Estel gave no further warning, placing his hand next to the arrow in my back and began to pull.

To my credit, I didn’t scream, but I did let out a string of curses that left every elf in the vicinity pale as the dead when I once again spouted out empty threats to the archer who decided I needed to be shot.

It felt like and age but in reality was probably only a few seconds, when the arrow was extracted and Estel had fashioned a makeshift bandage that wrapped around my shoulder, it felt like an uncomfortable, bulky backpack strap tied to me.

He examined my face and was clearly satisfied my what he saw.

“That was close, another inch to the left and the arrow would’ve pierced your heart,” he said seriously.

I let out an incredulous laugh as relief flowed through me, “The fact that it pierced me at all is the problem,” standing as straight as I could I narrowed my eyes at the group of elves, glaring heatedly at them, “now who the ever-loving _fuck_ shot me when I _clearly_ had everything under control?!”

The elves looked ashamed to their credit, crowded beneath the shadow of the canopy as they were, when one of them stepped out from their peers and into the moonlight I stood under with Estel and Gandalf.

Tall as a young tree, towering over myself, and strong enough to wield a great war bow and endowed with the tremendous vitality of elven bodies. His hair was so very long and blonde, with the most beautiful face I had ever seen. A jolt of electricity shot through me when my dark blue eyes connected with ones I had seen before on another elf. Legolas Greenleaf, I had been shot by the Prince of Mirkwood and threatened his life.

“You have my deepest apologies, Lady Olivia,” he bowed lowly, his eyes imploring me as I nearly got lost in their ocean depths, “I was the one who had shot you.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, completely unaffected by both his beauty and apology, straightening my body and striding right past him.

“I’m keeping the arrow,”

\-----

Once again, I was being tended to by elven healers. Gandalf really was right about my uncanny ability to acquire injuries.

I shrugged it off easily, the scars I had accumulated had another one to keep them company and I didn’t care so much. Whatever vanity I held before I entered Middle Earth was completely destroyed when I saw what the charring had done to my hand.

Sitting in the privacy of the healing wing, I examined the charring again.

It had grown since I last looked at it. When I had first seen it after awaking in the House of Elrond, my finger tips had turned black with tiny cracks of molten lava-like light shining from beneath. It was not like necrotic flesh, but more akin to the surface of a blackened volcano that gave way to black stained skin, tiny dark veins running into the smooth pale expanse of my arm. Now, the charring had nearly compassed my entire hand, and I realised with a sickening feeling in the depths of my soul that every time I used my dark sword or the otherworldly power bestowed upon me it grew.

Back in my world, I had once read that Melkor, or Morgoth rather, who was Sauron’s big bad boss in all the way back in the First Age had his own arms burnt and blackened when he rebelled against Eru Illuvatar and was cast out of Valinor and into the Void after his attempted usurpation was thwarted by the combined efforts of all those who opposed him, including the other Valar themselves.

I wondered if the charring was connected to him directly, if this ailment I suffered from was the same that he did, and if that meant I was doomed from the start. The thing was though, was that Elrond had said that the charring came from Sauron, but his knowledge was limited to experience and foresight, which while obviously amazing and definitely noteworthy, I had read the Silmarillion which detailed the events that led up to the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.

To claim divine knowledge would be both hubristic in nature as well as just pure arrogance, but to _not_ recognise my obvious advantage was foolish in itself.

Gods, this was so hard. Nothing had prepared me for this, even my love for Tolkien’s works, and I felt as if I was the butt of some really bad cosmic joke.

Who was it that even placed that door in my home and pulled me into Arda? Could it have been the forces of good or the forces of evil? Were good and evil even as cookie cutter like they appeared in the stories? So far few things had actually matched up to what I had imagined when reading the books or watching the movies.

And how did I even know that what I had gleaned from both screen and pages was even accurate? My very existence here had thrown a spanner into the machine of my beliefs and left my head in a confusing jumbled disarray of questions that no one seemed able to answer.

What was my part in all of this? I knew I wasn’t necessary to the destruction of the One Ring, nor was I necessary at all. I didn’t even had plot armour like other people had, the charring leading me to my death was proof enough of that.

And when had I stopped seeing the people here as characters and _actual_ people? That one might actually be easy to answer and all came back to empathy. Perhaps this was all some crazy dream? But you couldn’t feel pain in dreams, and I’d been here for months, surely I’d have awoken in my cosy bed in my cosy flat by now?

Gods above, I missed the comforts of home. I’d never drink coke or irn-bru again, I’d never use a computer or play videogames again, I’d never go back to my old job, and I’d never know if my family found out what happened to me.

My mum would no doubt be going crazy with worry, my dad would never stop searching and Saorise? Saorise would blame herself for not getting home in time, and for not noticing something was off with me.

I missed her most of all, we’d been best friends since the second day of university six years ago, she’d been both best friend and sister, my emotional rock and we’d helped each other through the most difficult times of our lives together.

I didn’t want to live in a world without Saorise, but I didn’t want to die either. I once read that being suicidal wasn’t just about wanting to die but could also be about not wanting to be alive too.

Was I suicidal? Was that why I kept doing insane things with little care for self preservation? Why was everything so difficult now and why did I have to be the one to come here!?

Was there even any use mulling over questions such as these when I had little chance of ever finding out the answers?

I remembered that one quote Gandalf said to Frodo in Moria, “All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us.”

My time was limited, but so is all of our time, what did I want to do with mine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews! They really let me know if I'm on the right path or not and I love interacting with you guys! I'm planning on drawing Olivia as I'm an artist too and I'll post it with the next chapter. I'm getting these out pretty quick because I'm currently in isolation but I'm 'essential worker' so I'm back in work on sunday and from then on I probably will be a bit slower but I'm trucking on in the mean time. I've loved lotr for so long, baby's first fandom, and have no intention of stopping this, I'm also trying to incorporate pieces of lore from all of Tolkien's work btw, also the rating might go up in the future for canon-typical violence and maybe smut


	6. Strider and Wander Woman

“I have seldom met anyone who can give my son a good chiding, Lady Olivia, but I must say he probably deserved it,” Thranduil said as his sauntered over to his throne, laying himself over it dramatically and sipping on wine. The elf was the very definition of decadence and he was certainly growing on me.

I shrugged, “I might have been a little harsh, but I had just been shot so I think I had that right, Sire,”

Legolas had resolutely attempted to avoid my company since the incident, no doubt embarrassed that he had accidentally shot a foul tempered woman instead of the unsightly creature he had been aiming at.

However, Thranduil loved to watch people squirm, the sick bastard, and had insisted that Estel, Gandalf, and I dine with him and his son.

It proceeded to be the most awkward dinner of my life, and entirely too formal compared to dining with another elven royal family.

I will also admit this only one as contrary to popular belief, I do have some sense of shame and pride in tact; when I was twelve, like all other twelve year old girls, I had the biggest crush on Legolas when he surfed down stairs of shields on the tv screen.

This crush, I assure you, has completely diminished in light of meeting the real Legolas.

Standoffish and cold, he refused to meet my eyes, which not only was rude considering, y’know, he _shot_ me, but also I was a guest in his home, and no cajoling from his father changed his temperament whatsoever.

It was ridiculous. He it was clear he didn’t have an issue with humans, he conversed with Estel easily, as if he’d known him his whole life, nor was he an icicle to Gandalf either. Therefore I deduced that the issue was me.

Whatever had stuck a bee in his bonnet had to do with me and me alone, a fact I’m certain his father had picked up on considering he spent the entire evening subtly goading into Legolas and I into an argument.

I love drama as much as the next girl, but this was ridiculous, and while I normally didn’t care what people thought about me, there was something about Legolas that made my blood boil and my heart pound against my ribcage, and not in the usual dumb crush kind of way, more of a dire need to piss off kind of way.

“More wine, Olivia?” Thranduil offered as he gestured to his cup bearer whenever my goblet depleted to what he considered was below adequate capacity. Which is often, apparently.

I shook my head, “Are you trying to get me drunk, Sire? Shame on you,”

Thranduil chuckled, and proceeded to have his cup bearer refill my wine _again_ , “I’m merely ensuring that you enjoy the rest of your stay, Olivia, I do not often meet those infected with the famed Charring,” he said wickedly, a dark smile playing on his face.

The table fell silent, Estel and Gandalf already knew, but this was news to Legolas, who I felt kick his glare up in intensity. I discreetly glanced his way and for the first time since I confronted him after he shot me our eyes met.

If I didn’t know any better I’d say he looked...forlorn. Pity and pain swirled in his clear blue eyes, and I couldn’t maintain his gaze, instantly dropping my eyes to my wine as I leaned back in my chair.

“Lord Elrond had mentioned that you’d encountered my illness before, Sire, what d’you know of it?” I asked him, breath tight in my chest. Though I had little qualms about discussing the charring with those I considered as friends, I was not naive enough count Thranduil as one of them.

Thranduil also settled back in his regal chair, a deep sigh leaving his lips and I’d never seen him look so aged in the short time I’d known him.

“It is not pleasant,” he warned, “but before I was crowned king I fought side by side with another warrior that suffered from the Charring. His death was neither quick nor painless, and it did not end well,” Thranduil revealed.

I frowned, “Did he tell you how he contracted it?”

The gaze Thranduil levelled me with sent a hollow chill rattling through my bones, and I was unable to tear my gaze away from his face, briefly, I saw his visage change and a scar marred his handsome face, but as soon as it appeared it was gone.

“No,” he said after a time, and I could almost taste his lie, “but he did speak of a potential cure, should one have the stomach to seek it,”

My heart leapt in my chest, hope rising within me, “And what was this cure?” I could barely contain my excitement, despite the warning that was dawning over Gandalf’s face across from me, I ignored it.

Thranduil dropped his facade, his face severe as he held my desperate gaze, “Another soul must willingly take it from you, and damn themselves in return,”

I gasped, my skin crawling at the satisfaction I saw linger behind Thranduil’s eyes as he continued crushing my hopes and dreams.

“Though I am certain you will never find someone willing to do such a thing, if it is even true,” he said so easily, as if he didn’t just deliver a fatal blow to my already hopeless life.

My throat constricted in my chest, and I heard Gandalf’s outraged voice begin to argue with Thranduil. Estel and Legolas remained silent throughout the ordeal but the actions and words of my dining companions fell on deaf ears.

The panic had risen, a hopeless despair settling in the pit of my stomach as I heard the sinister chanting of drums crash in the back of my mind, darkness filling my vision. The sword was wrapped safely in the chambers allocated to Estel, Gandalf, and myself and I could hear it screaming out to me, attuned to my erratic emotions as perilous as a raging sea storm. The room felt both far too hot and far too cold simultaneously, and the walls were crushing me, though I logically knew that neither of these things were possible.

I heard someone shouted, and it was only when Estel’s face cleared the darkness from my vision did I realise how far into mania I nearly descended. The light filtered through the shadow, and with a startling revelation did I see at least ten elves across from me with bows drawn and arrows nocked ready to shoot me.

My fists unclenched from the edge of the table, splinters coming away from the damaged woodwork and I let out a stuttered breath.

Thranduil let out a pleased chuckle, “What an interesting woman you are, I rather enjoy it,”

Gandalf set a thunderous gaze on Thranduil, his eyebrows drawn so low I almost couldn’t see the dark warning his eyes held as he glared at Thranduil.

“You would do well not to antagonise her, Elvenking, she is tormented enough,” he chastised, “she is far more dangerous than you believe,”

Thranduil laughed coldly again, “I would slaughter her before she so much as raised a hand in anger,”

My eyes blinked owlishly, tears gathering, as Estel, “I can’t be here,” I said quietly, hurriedly standing from the table and striding away, Estel at my heels.

I heard Gandalf say something in elvish before he caught up to us, both men situating themselves on either side of me. We left that night.

Legolas frowned at his father, “That was needlessly cruel,” he said, disapproval clear in his voice.

Thranduil turned his sharp gaze to his son, “It was necessary, that woman is a walking tragedy, even if I’m rather fond of her,”

Legolas’ gaze lingered on the door that slammed after the three left, thoughts swirling in his head.

\-----

Fuine provided me with great comfort, and Estel and Gandalf did their best to distract me from Thranduil’s words, even as Gandalf grumbled beneath his breath about ‘haughty Elvenkings’ and ‘how he hasn’t changed a bit’.

“Do you think he told the truth?” I cut through Gandalf’s muttering, “That an...exchange... really is the only way to cure me of this?” I didn’t want to hope, mostly because I would never agree to such a thing...but someone else might, and that’s precisely what I feared.

Gandalf sighed heavily, “Indeed, I do, Thranduil seldom lies, especially when he has little reason too, I’m afraid that your options are severely limited, dear Olivia,” he sounded forlorn, as if delivering new of my untimely death, which I suppose he was.

I shrugged, a hollowness settling deep in my bones, “My odds were never optimistic to begin with, I suppose I should’ve been expecting this really...”

Estel leaned over on his horse and laid a comforting hand on my shoulder, “we won’t give up, Olivia, there must be an alternative, and if not then I’m sure Lord Elrond will allow you to wait out the rest of your time in Imladris, should you desire too,”

Gods, this was so fucked up, and once the tears started they just wouldn’t stop, big fat drops comparable to rain fell down my cheeks and my nose began to clog up with snot. This would be an ugly cry, but I couldn’t find it within myself to care. Not when my imminent demise was so rudely presented to me again.

To their credit, Gandalf and Estel said nothing more, intuitively picking up on my desire to not converse, and instead let me cry openly, carefully scribbling my darkest thoughts into my journal.

I knew I would die in Middle Earth, hell, most girls spent there time trying to find a way back to their world but I was very much aware that such a thing was distinctly out of reach, and impractical, if I couldn’t cure the Charring. Mortality was a funny thing, and though I’d been made aware of it before, it had never hit me so hard until then.

Our road back to Rivendell was uneventful, and I spent the time ruminating my inevitable demise. I felt depressed again, that hollowness that exists inside you festering around in the silence of my diminished hope, even the dark sword elected to give me time and space, as if it were content with my current level of suffering.

So I probably had less than a year left to live. What exactly does one do with that time? IfI were back on earth the answer would be obvious. Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll, but I was pretty certain Middle Earth didn’t operate that way, and unprotected sex with strangers in a tavern was just not as attractive in a place that didn’t have birth control or condoms. I was already dying, I didn’t want to be pregnant _and_ dying.

I did want to kill something though, and orcs seemed like the best place to start. Ancalagonél agreed.

\-----

Estel did not approve of my desire to hunt orc, he said that needless bloodshed only led to more needless bloodshed and I shouldn’t waste my time killing when I would probably have to do it anyway in the future.

He was right of course, but when you’re going down an emotional spiral you don’t really tend to care for reason.

Lord Elrond had insisted I spend my time hunting orc to also look for the non-existent cure to the charring, and perhaps find out more of how exactly I was brought to Middle Earth in the first place.

All in all, years passed by as life managed to be action-packed and impossible to keep up with while agonisingly frustrating and slow. I didn’t even think the two could co-exist together, and yet here I was, trying to toe the fine line between determined survival and batshit crazy.

Currently, I was feeling more like batshit crazy.

Estel had begrudgingly insisted on accompanying me whenever I found a lead to ‘mysterious magic items’ which always turned out to be nothing, and ‘mad people ranting about other worlds’ which also always turned out the be nothing too.

I was going insane with frustration, I had spent the batter part of ten years searching for rumours that seemed little more than smoke on the water, and honestly I started to believe that _I_ had fabricated this other world I claimed to be from and I really was crazy. How could I be certain of my sanity when no one else ever seemed to understand my little pop culture references or anecdotes relating to Earth?

I sighed, plopping myself down next to Estel in the tavern as we chased yet another dead end.

“Perhaps I was wrong,” swallowing thickly Ii tried to keep the hopelessness out of my voice, “perhaps all that’s going on here is that my brain took one too many hits,”

Estel sipped at his ale, leaning back casually in his seat as he contemplated all that we had learned. Or not learned rather.

“Even if you are wrong, the good you have brought to these people is real, how many lives have you saved by simply chasing after threads of rumours?”

I leaned back too, adjusting my legs, “I know you’re right, but for once I’d love to find a tv instead of another steel shield in a goblin camp,”

Estel shrugged, “I believe you, I’ve known you so long now that I have no doubt you’re from another world, why else would you be so strange?” He teased.

“Hmmm,” I said, taking another long drag from my own ale, “perhaps I should try to make one of the devices from my world? I’m certain I can make something simple, I was quite good with technology and woodworking when I lived there,” I considered, already thinking up ideas to what I could build.

Shoving a whole sausage in his mouth, Estel finished his meal, and began helping himself to the plate I picked at in front of me, “Either way, it will have to wait, while we were clearing out the goblin camp a messenger came looking for us,” he procured a letter from his pocket, reaching across to hand it to me, “take a look, it’s from Gandalf.”

“He wants us to go to Bree? Why?” I asked Estel, swiping one of my tomatoes off his fork, when the answer hit my like a brick to the face, and allowed Estel the chance to reclaim my rescued tomato.

Estel narrowed his eyes when he saw my expression, “You already know why, don’t you?”

Suddenly, I completely lost my appetite and pushed my plate to Estel who gratefully took it from me. That man never turned down a meal.

“Yes,” I said, but the truth was I had completely forgotten about Aragron meeting the hobbits in Bree, and it was then I realised that I had actually forgotten a lot of the story.

It was nearly ten years a spell of amnesia that stood between me and my memories of the stories I had loved so much. I had no ability to read the books or watch the movies in so long, and the details had become fragmented in my mind, shifted and moving around as I desperately tried to catch them.

This was going to be difficult, I was stuck in Middle Earth during the events of Lord of the Rings and had absolutely no way of knowing if my memories were true or not. The potential for damage was significant, and any caused could be catastrophic.

My eyes cut back to Estel, “We better not get any drunker,” I threw my mug tankard back, downing my ale in one and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, “Bree is a week away, and we’re leaving _now_ ,”

Estel didn’t argue, and before the tavern barman could bid us farewell, we were out the door and on the road.

Gods, I better not mess any of this up.

The road to Bree from Tharbad was not arduous, even if it we did have to cut across the country and ignore the roads. Tharbad was in the south, and had certainly seen better days. It was once a great town that provided comfort and security to those who travel the river Greyflood, but years of invasions of Sauron’s forces had left it in disrepair, much to Estel’s displeasure.

As we travelled through the Southdowns near Bree I contemplated what the beginning of my adventures into the history of Middle Earth meant. I had already made a bit of an impact, that was kind of impossible at the this point as I wasn’t content to just lay down and die like so many thought I should do, but my meddling, because ultimately even if I did save lives I was still meddling, in preordained affairs could cause.

Would it be like a ripple effect? Or a drug? Once I started would I be able to stop if need be? How far could I take this before I changed something irreversibly?

I didn’t have answers to these questions, and unfortunately neither did Estel who dutifully listened to my mulling like the good friend he was. He had officially adopted me now and family are supposed ot listen to your woes, I suppose.

It certainly made travelling easier when people asked about my origin, even if they didn’t see the family resemblance between Estel and myself.

Bree was in our sights, the sun was beginning to set and I carefully slotted myself through the small gap of the great wooden gate that protected Bree from the outside world.

Mud, mud, and more mud. Bree was filthy, I’d never been there before and I decided that repeating the experience wasn’t high on my list of priorities, even if I was being a bit unfair as the heavy rain lent the town a strong sense of the colour brown.

Estel situated us in the corner of the Prancing Pony after procuring a room, as I set down the biggest pint of ale I’d ever seen on the table. I instantly tried to drink it, but he snatched it away and swapped it for a gigantic pint of water instead.

“What the hell?!” I said angrily, “Why are you stealing my drink?!”

Estel tipped the ale back, downing it in one as I scowled at him, “I need you focused, and being focused does not involve being face first in a pint of ale,”

“Focused!” I scoffed, “I’m always focused! Especially after consuming copious amounts of alcohol,” I said, crossing my arms in indignation as Estel prepared his pipe

He snorted,” Enthusiastic, maybe, but never focused, now get comfortable, we wait here for Gandalf,”

I leaned back again, preparing to sulk, when four familiar bodies entered my vision, immediately beelining for the bar.

“Hmm, I doubt we’ll be waiting long, look,” I said gesturing to the hobbits, “I don’t think it’s Gandalf we’re waiting for, Estel,”

“Strider,” he said, “call me Strider, and yourself Wander,”

I snorted, “Like Wander Woman? Suits me,”

He shook his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips, “Another reference I’m not expected to understand,”

I winked at him, “You called it,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, so I'm drawing a picture of Olivia for you but I haven't finished it yet, it'll probably be included int he next chapter or the one after, thanks for reading!


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